


Shelter

by the_seaworthy_muffin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bath Spirit Merlin, Businessman Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, M/M, Or more like water spirit that lives in Arthur's bath, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_seaworthy_muffin/pseuds/the_seaworthy_muffin
Summary: Merlin soothes Arthur’s ills away.Or: Merlin is a bath spirit who lives in Arthur’s tub.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea of a bath spirit living in someone's tub from Yeaka's beautiful Glorestor fic, Balm (go check it out if you're a Glorestor fan- it's awesome!); but hopefully I've added enough touches to call it my own. Mostly I was very tired and stressed these few days and wanted to write something self-indulgent. I need a Merlin to soothe my ills away. :O  
> p.s. A short warning here for some nudity- it's a bath, so Arthur isn't wearing any clothes, but nothing untoward happens? Some non-sexual romantic cuddling without clothes, I guess. But you may want to steer clear if that's something that makes you uncomfortable.

Merlin is waiting for him, when Arthur comes home.

Arthur’s bath is full and scented with bath salts, swirling in impossible shades of cobalt and turquoise and rose. The hot, fragrant air hits Arthur’s face like a wall; the heated moisture of the air is almost tangible.

Merlin lounges against the edge of Arthur’s bathtub. He is tantalizing with his misty, translucent skin stretched out like a banquet, blue eyes glimmering with resigned understanding and mirth. He beckons, and Arthur jerks forward as if drawn, shedding his dusty suit onto the wet floor. A trail follows him, fine shirt and trousers and belt, and Merlin smiles.

“Long day?”

“I think I won’t have to answer that,” Arthur replies, sinking into the water with a sigh. Merlin never pampers him like this when he hasn’t had a trying day. Merlin hums, drawing Arthur into an embrace.

Merlin’s embraces are like a force of nature. It feels like being blanketed in a warm, wet quilt, like wading through a veil of mist. Like coming home.

Merlin’s skin is pale and flawless and the slightest bit translucent, almost like a ghost. Arthur traces the pattern of his bathtub walls across Merlin’s fine skin, and Merlin prods him in the ribs, heated water sloshing dangerously close to the tub’s walls.

“Don’t _do_ that; it tickles.”

But Arthur knows that Merlin enjoys it too. That Merlin’s eyes widen in joyful wonder when Arthur pauses to caress the fine points of Merlin’s ears, his heated breath that fogs the glass even on the hottest day of summer; the blue marble of his eyes, so unlike anything any human smith could dare try to recreate. When Arthur pauses, and lets himself revel in the vast, inhuman beauty of him.

Arthur sighs, letting himself sink into his neck. Some days, he wishes he were like Merlin- able to melt like nothingness into the water, free to roam the skies in thunderous clouds and myriad droplets of rain. Merlin hums, again, turning himself around to slot himself into the space between Arthur’s legs.

It’s intimate without being sexual, so unbearably close, Merlin’s heat like a brand of iron across Arthur’s front. Arthur lets his fingers wander across Merlin’s lithe arm, pressing nonsensical patterns into the fine, marbled skin.

It’s easier, somehow, just the two of them, chest to back, nothing but the sporadic splash of the water and the beautiful suffocating heat of the air. Humid, almost as if droplets would form in his lung were he to draw in a breath deep enough.

So Arthur talks.

He talks about the proposal he hadn’t gotten. He talks about the paper-cut he’d got this morning, about burnt coffee and soured cream. He talks about Uther’s expectations and where he can shove them, about Agravaine’s slippery smiles and Morgana’s taunting smirks. He talks about the pebble in his shoe, about the loose thread in his socks.

He talks, about everything big and small, and Merlin listens.

Merlin runs his fingers down Arthur’s arm, a burning brand of heat. It’s soothing, reassuring, and Arthur lets himself close his eyes and melt against the touch.

Because, despite it all, he has somewhere to come home to. A little shelter of his own.

And Arthur couldn’t ever hope to express how lucky he truly is.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this short little piece!  
> On a totally unrelated note: I saw footage of the mobs storming the capitol on the TV today, and goodness, it was horrifying and terrifying in equal measures. I can't dare say I can understand the political situation of another country, but to all Americans who've been scared/unsettled/disturbed out there- you've done a fantastic job holding on, and I just wanted to give you some praise- or encouragement (though it sounds weird when I phrase it that way?), if I could. Really. You've all been awesome, people. Carry on.


End file.
